From the Rome News-Tribune:

It is December 24 in the early 1930s. I feel the excitement of something good about to happen for my mama and daddy have been busy loading up their car all morning. I have been told to stay out of their way so I take my dolly and crawl back into bed. It is warm there underneath all of the homemade quilts, but in spite of being so comfortable, I cannot go to sleep. I wish someone would tell me what is going on.

Finally my mama calls me and I get out of bed, running into the front room to find her waiting for me. She hurriedly puts on my coat and cap and ushers me out the front door. My daddy picks me up and puts me in the front seat and when mama gets in beside me, I crawl over into her lap. My excitement rises for I know this means that we are going somewhere.

Daddy starts the car and I jump when it backfires. He utters something under his breath and then we are moving. The car goes across the bridge over a ditch in front of our house and then heads toward Shannon. I snuggle down and promptly fall asleep.

I awaken to the sound of a car door slamming and raise up to find that we are at my Grandma and Grandpa Sanders’ home. The front door opens and Grandma Sanders comes rushing out to welcome us. We have come home for Christmas!

It is December 1944. I am in the U.S. Navy WAVES and on a train from Miami, Fla., heading to Atlanta. There I will have a layover of a few hours before I board the local train 32 that will take me to Rockmart where my parents now live. I have ordered Christmas gifts for everyone from Sears in Miami, instructing that they be delivered to their address in Rockmart.

When I get on board train No. 32, I settle back to enjoy the ride through the Georgia mountains. I wistfully look out of the window when we pass through McPherson and Braswell where we once lived, memories filling my mind and then when the conductor comes through announcing Rockmart, I get up to get off the train.

When I get off the train, the station seems deserted. I did not tell anyone I

was coming home so no one is there to meet me. The stationmaster whistles for a cab parked across the street at a little café and it takes me to the address my parents had given me.

I expectantly go to the front door and am distressed when I am told that my parents no longer live there. Fortunately the people who have bought the house are old friends from McPherson and she invites me to come in. She gives me the news that my parents now live in a house up the street, but that they are not at home. She expects them home in a day or so and urges me to stay with her family until then.

The next day I walk up to the house and find the Christmas gifts that I ordered piled on the front porch. I decide that it is not safe to leave them there. The house is locked up tight, but the bathroom on the back porch is open and I take the packages back there and store them.

Several days later, my parents come home. They are surprised to see me and soon my mama is busy putting up a tree and getting ready for Christmas. I am a little disappointed that they were not home to greet me when I came home for Christmas that year.

It is years later. I now have a family and home of my own. My parents now live in Atlanta and early Christmas morning, my husband and sons load the gifts we have for them into our car and we head for Atlanta. Arriving, the boys rush ahead to let them know we are there. I have recently had major surgery, so dread the thought of the two flights of stairs that I must climb in order to get to their apartment.

When my husband and I enter the hallway, the odor of Christmas dinner cooking fills the air. My parents live in an old mansion on Lee Street and have the entire second floor. I laboriously climb the two flights of stairs and find my mama waiting in the doorway of her apartment. I make it to the door — then faint dead away, but I have made it home for Christmas.

It is Dec. 24, 1990. I am in the hospital recovering from a compression fracture in my upper back that I suffered in a fall a few days after the funeral of my husband. My children are now married and have families of their own, and this year I chose to order Christmas dinner catered by our local Piggly Wiggly store. When my daughter-in-law, Lynn comes by the hospital, I ask her to pick up the dinner and put it in the refrigerator at my house. Later in the day, my son Ralph comes in to tell me that he has gotten them to release me to go home for Christmas. He takes me to their home where I spend the night, but have to sleep sitting up in a recliner because it hurts so badly when I lie down.

Shortly before dawn, I slip down the hallway and tell my grandsons that Santa has come! Before long the living room is ringing with shouts as they open their gifts, then I ask my son to take me to my house so that I can have dinner ready when the family gets there. I know that this is what my late husband would have wanted and fortunately I had bought and wrapped my gifts before Thanksgiving, had even put up the Christmas tree before I fell and broke my back.

I put the turkey and dressing into the oven to heat and make some things to go with what came with the catered dinner. By the time my family rings the doorbell, it is all ready and one more time – they have come home again for a family Christmas.

It is December 1999. I have remarried and now live in Henderson, Nev. My husband has agreed for us to have Christmas dinner with his daughter, Kathy and her family. Jim Jr. and his family will be there also. I make homemade rolls, a piña colada cake and my Christmas salad to contribute to the festivities, introducing them to some of my Southern traditional dishes, but it is not the same. The table is loaded with their traditional holiday dishes, but no turkey and dressing When I make my phone call to the family in Georgia, the sounds in the background let me know that they are all together at Ralph and Lynn’s home

enjoying a family Christmas celebration and I find myself longing to be home for Christmas.

It is December 2004. My husband and I have moved back to Georgia, but unfortunately, he is gravely ill. My son, Ronnie goes to the storage facility where my Georgia things are stored and brings back boxes of my old Christmas decorations. I am overjoyed and although a lot of them are missing, I happily go about decorating our home for Christmas this year. My husband is out of the hospital, but not able to enjoy the food that I prepare. I make a traditional Christmas dinner with ham and all the trimmings, but sadly no one comes to share it with us except Ronnie’s son, Andy. Son Ronnie is living us to help take care of my sick husband. It isn’t a joyful Christmas at all, but at least I am home for Christmas.

It is Christmas 2008. So much has changed. My husband has died and son, Ronnie and I now share a home in Garden Lakes. We have lost Ralph and Lynn’s son, Kurt who was killed in a motorcycle accident. A fire destroyed all of my treasured Christmas decorations, many that I had since my first husband and I had our first Christmas together. Knowing how much I loved Christmas, son Gene and his wife have sent me many beautiful Christmas ornaments for my tree and angels for my angel collection. The tree this year is beautiful and daughter-in-law, Lynn has done a wonderful job of decorating the house for me. As usual, it will be she preparing our Christmas dinner instead of me, but at least I feel that I am home for Christmas this year.

It is Christmas 2009. I am still basking from the glow of Thanksgiving with all three of my sons and their wives again. So much has changed since the Christmases of long ago. My son, Ronnie and I have put up our tree and decorations. Sadly, we could not locate one box full of the decorations that son, Gene sent me last year, but fortunately we found enough to make the tree beautiful and decorations for the house are gaily displayed.

I look around, marveling that I have made it for another Christmas, knowing that it will not always be so. However, when I depart this old world for the wonders of what lies ahead, I look forward to once again being reunited with all of those who await me, knowing that then I will truly be home for Christmas.

Bernice Couey Bishop is a native of Floyd County and a freelance writer.